A Winter Scandal by Candace Camp Page A

would not help her? I would never have done that.”
    Moved by his obvious distress, Thea reached out and laid a comforting hand on his arm. “I am sure she must know that.” She smiled. “If your sister is the one who left Matthew here, I am sure she was counting on you. I don’t know why she did not come to you herself, but I suspect it may have been more that she felt embarrassed. Ashamed. But she knew she could trust in your generosity.”
    He gazed down into Thea’s face for a moment, a faint smile forming on his lips. “Thank you. You are good to say so, considering that I have been less than gentlemanly toward you.” He covered her hand with his. “I truly am sorry that I did not remember you this afternoon.”
    Thea stepped back, shrugging. “It was not the first time.”
    As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Thea wished she could have them back. They revealed far too much. Quickly she turned away, trying to think of something to stop the questions she could see forming in his eyes. Unfortunately, her mind was an utter blank.
    “What did you say?” Morecombe asked. “It wasn’t the first time? What do you mean?”
    “Nothing, really. We had best get back to the house now. I’m sure Mrs. Brewster will be ready to leave soon, and—”
    “No. Wait.” He circled around to face her again. “I am sure that was not ‘nothing.’ You said that it was not the first time I didn’t remember you?”
    “Don’t be absurd. How many times could you forget me?” That had not come out well, either, she thought. There had been the echo of hurt in the words. Why could she not say something light and airy? She had had years of practice at telling polite lies—assuring someone that her new grandson was handsome or thanking a skinflint for his generosity in making a pitifully small donation to the church or declaring that she much preferred to sit and chat with the matrons than dance with the other young people. Why was it proving so difficult to conceal what she felt from this man?
    “I would have said I wouldn’t forget a woman even once,” he retorted. “Particularly not one as … um, forthright as you.”
    “You mean as shrewish as I.”
    He chuckled. “You will not allow one even a sop, will you? My dear Miss Bainbridge, you—” He stopped, narrowing his eyes. “That’s right. You are a Bainbridge. Ian called you ‘cousin,’ did he not? I have met you before. Sometime with Ian, no doubt.”
    “Do not belabor your memory. It was years and years ago, at a wedding.”
    “What wed—” Thea saw the light begin to dawn in his eyes. “Yes! Of course. Sweet Lord, that must have been over ten years ago. How could I not have remembered you at once? You were the girl who tried to talk me out of dancing with her.” His eyes glinted with the same dark mischief they had shown back then, and Thea was sure, her heart sinking, that he remembered everything about that evening, including their kiss.
    She turned away again sharply, her cheeks heating up. It just went from bad to worse with this man. Now he would think that the kiss had meant a great deal to her or she would not have remembered it so long. Of course, it was the truth, but it was humiliating that he was aware of it.
    “It was nothing, really,” she said, striving for an airy tone. “I cannot think why I would have remembered it myself. I’m sure I must have recalled you only because you were utterly lacking in decorum at the time.”
    He reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, whirling her back around to face him. Grinning, he said, “Ah, but I am still utterly lacking in decorum.”
    He reached out and took her spectacles from her nose, dropping them in the pocket of his coat. Before she could so much as protest or even blink, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her to him. And, once again, he kissed her.
    But this kiss was nothing like the first one. Ten years ago, his mouth had been light on hers, gently